A cacophony of words, a rage of similes, and a dash of awkward poetry. You know, to keep it classy.

Tag Archives: FYI

So, as most of my friends and family know, my man-friend and I recently became engaged. After five years of dating, it’s less of a shock and more of a relief for most people, removing the unknown “when?” from everyone’s minds when they think about us.

Now that I’ve mostly adjusted to wearing a new ring (and rearranging my other rings to accommodate the new sparkly), I’m able to give everyone what they’ve been waiting – and asking impatiently – for since it happened; The Story.

It started with a phone call after work. I was on my way home, and my man-friend called me up to ask me if I wanted to go out to a local bistro that happens to be a particular favorite of ours (and not just because his sister works there and sometimes gets us free stuff).

His reasoning? “I didn’t feel like cooking dinner, and we haven’t been out in a while.” Both logical reasons, because:

Due to our schedules, he gets home before me most days, and therefore he is usually the one to make dinner (and it sucks to have to do that every day, so I don’t blame him for wanting a day off) and

We are trying to save our money to be able to pay off our student loans early, so we rarely go out to dinner.

Of course I agreed, because who doesn’t like to go out to dinner? So when I got home, we put the dog away and immediately left, meaning that we were both in our nice work clothes (perfect timing on his part, if I do say).

We got to the restaurant (Spoiler alert: He doesn’t do it during dinner), and we sat in his sister’s section so we could chat with her for a bit. We had delicious bread, delicious dinner, delicious drinks – honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything bad here, so it’s always a good place to go. We laughed and talked and had a general good time (*salutes* General Good Time).

Afterwards, my man-friend suggested that we go for a walk around the lake to help us burn some calories. We had been trying to eat better and exercise more, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary.

We went over to the lake, and it was a little chilly, so no one was there – it was just the two of us walking around.

He started to act a little weird as we were walking, pointing out a dog across the water and ducks up ahead and things like that. He just kept jumping from subject to subject, which was unusual, to say the least. He also had his left hand in his pocket the whole time, which meant that he was pointing with his right hand. That was weird because we usually hold hands when we walk around (shut up, we’re cute), and we couldn’t because of all of the pointing.

I told him that I wish I had grabbed his jacket, because it was getting a little too chilly for me (I was in short sleeves), and he stopped and said he had a surprise for me. He asked me if I wanted it now, and since I had put the nervousness and the pointing and the hand-in-the-pocket together, I knew what was happening and said yes.

He pulled out the ring, and before he had a chance to get down on his knee (or even get the question out), I grabbed him in a big hug and started tearing up. He asked me, and I couldn’t get a response out for a while, because emotions. Finally he said, “I’m so nervous!” So I got out a yes, and he pulled away so I could actually see the ring (I only saw it briefly before the hug and the crying happened).

It’s beautiful.Also, he picked out the ring himself. He told me later that he was going to get a different one, but he saw this one and knew. 🙂

We hugged, we kissed, he was relieved, I forgot about being cold. It was amazing.

After that, we had the enormous task of telling our parents, siblings, grandparents, etc. Some we could tell in person, some got texts or phone calls, but eventually everyone heard about it that night.

Except for my mother.

See, she had chosen that week to go on a cruise, and didn’t have her phone turned on due to being in international waters and ridiculous charges and the like. I sent her pictures of us and the ring, but she did not get them until three days later when her boat came back to the country, which meant that we weren’t able to put anything on Facebook (the keeper of all of the knowledge) until then, because I didn’t want her to find out through social media. That kind of thing is okay for friends and extended family, not really okay for parents.

Finally she got back and found out, and finally we were able to put it up on Facebook, and finally we were able to make the small part of the world that we live in explode in congratulations and happy dances in public. It was no lip synced dancing video, or video with Zach Braff, or photographed event, but it was us, and it was wonderful.

Sometimes Facebook gets its timing just right to brighten up an otherwise gloomy day in the office. I love it when non-sentient beings get snarky.

Timing points – +1000.

Side note: If you are getting your major news stories from a wordpress website, you should probably understand that the facts are probably not as they seem, since wordpress sites are free and anyone can start up a “news” site to spout their own opinions.

I would say I’m only judging a little, but who am I kidding? I’m judging a lot.

It’s hard to have a relative be in the hospital. I found out that last night my grandpa had an abdominal aortic aneurysm (try saying that ten times fast), and had to have emergency surgery to fix it.

I didn’t hear about any of this until it had happened and he was out of surgery, which probably saved me a lot of worry, but also made me a bit angry. Angry is better than sad, though, and knowing that he was fine kept me from being sad. That is, until my dad sent me a picture of my grandpa out of surgery.

My grandpa, for as long as I can remember, has looked like Santa Claus. In fact, that was a side job of his for at least the last 20 years. I remember being at most six years old, and seeing my grandpa come out of the bathroom in his red suit (yes, he owns his own) with bleach on his beard to whiten it and rouge on his cheeks. Lately, he hasn’t need to whiten his beard, but the rest of the outfit has been the same. I don’t think my grandpa has had clean cheeks for at least 25 years, which is why this picture was such a shock.

Grandpa Claus and the Mrs.

They had to cut his beard for the surgery (I don’t know the exact reason – I’m no doctor), and he looks completely different. I started tearing up when I saw him like this, because he looks so much different from how I have always known him.

Anyway, he should be doing fine now, so there’s no need for teary eyes at work. If you have a minute, though, please spare a thought for the Santa without a beard.

Not in the I’m-against-God kind of way, but in the I-don’t-want-to-be-referred-to-as-a-God. We’ll get to that later.

I recently had the following facebook conversation with a friend of mine who claims to be a Whedon fan, but had only just now watched Buffy.

He may not like it, but Joss Whedon creates universes like a god, and will be treated as such.

I thought we were funny, so I tweeted this picture to Joss Whedon, in the vain hope that he would find it funny and retweet it (I still have yet to be retweeted by a celebrity, and I’m sorry if that was a spoiler to the rest of the story).

And then this happened:

Come on, Whedon, at least call me out by name!

I still love Whedon, but come on, if you’re going to call me out, at least use my name! Even a “thanks, but no thanks” response would have made me unbearably giddy.

It’s hard to be a women. Not in a have-to-do-your-hair-every-day, wearing high heels, PMS kind of way; I’m talking about the things that women know and understand about being a women that men could never even dream of, things we do to keep ourselves safe from would be muggers or rapists, things that we learn from an early age to do. You look both ways to cross the street? We count the men on the street in case we get attacked.

I am always aware of what I’m wearing, and how that can be seen by strangers.

If I’m ever put into the trunk of a car, I know to try to pop out the tail light and wave my arm out – then someone will hopefully see it and call the police, while the driver will never know. In fact, I just bought a car that includes a release handle in the trunk for this very reason.

I always have my keys ready when walking to my car – I don’t want to waste time trying to get in if someone comes after me.

If a mugger comes up to me, I throw my wallet/purse, because if that’s all he wants, he’ll go after it and leave me alone.

If someone is firing a gun at me, I know that running in a straight line is the worst thing you can do – zig and zag, because the chances of them accurately hitting you are slim.

I took Miss Congeniality seriously – Sternum, Instep, Nose, Groin. And I will always go for the Groin.

I will never park next to a large or windowless vehicle. I would rather walk further in a parking lot than take a chance.

Strangers walking up to me for any reason makes me nervous. If I’m alone, I will blow them off as quickly as possible, and make sure that they never get within arm’s reach.

I watch shows like Criminal Minds not only because I enjoy them, but because they give me ideas on how creepy people will come up to me, and I can think of ways to avoid them.

This is by no means a full list, and it doesn’t mean that women who don’t do these things deserve something to happen to them; I just hope it opens some eyes and possibly prevents someone from putting themselves in a situation without knowing how to get out.

I also hope that it clues men in a bit – walking up to women in the parking lot is scary for them, even if it isn’t for you. Keep in mind how the things you say and do will be seen by a woman who doesn’t know you.

Having, in a former life, worked at a pet food store, I have become a bit of a snob when it comes to dog food. Don’t get me wrong, I still give my dog treats and let him eat food that hit the floor. I just refuse to feed any animal something that they are allergic to, weed killer, or euthanized animals.

Yes, your dog food has euthanized animals in it.

I’m eating what?!?

Commonly referred to on labels as “animal digest” (and what animal is this? Chicken? Cow? Dog? Nobody knows, and Iams isn’t telling), this broad and disgusting term covers sick animals, road kill, and even euthanized pets.

No thank you.

So the next time someone gives you a dirty look for picking up the giant bag of Science Diet, at the grocery store, don’t worry. It’s probably just me.